The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. . It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye.
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